


The Perfect Lighting

by RedSun



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Social Anxiety, tbh I don't even know exactly which characters are gonna appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSun/pseuds/RedSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young homeless boy by the name of “Ghost” captures the attention of Erik, a man who is struggling with himself in an endless cycle of self doubt from a mental illness he thought he could overcome. When Erik invites this boy into his home one chilly night and offers him a warm meal and a place to sleep, he did not expect an odd bond to form between them, one that will transform both their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for taking your time to read my first public fic ^_^  
> this was really just a late night idea I had and couldn't stop writing! Despite the short time it took to write, it probably wont be a regular occurrence and updates may be slow but I will try to write at least one chapter a month.  
> I hope you enjoy!

It was a very large event. The first basketball game of the season. Parents and their families all came together to sit on the crowded bleachers of a middle school gym to watch their sons, nephews, or grandsons compete against a rival schools own all-boy’s basketball team and cheer on their own team to victory. Erik, however, wasn’t much of a sports fanatic and sat quietly reserved, applauding the boys politely when their team scored a few points. The packed bleachers of the home side gave sound to a roar of encouraged shouts that seemed highly unnecessary to Erik for a spots game of twelve and thirteen year olds. Erik cringed at the maddened shouts of a large over-eager father sat behind him and subtly leaned forward and away into his husband’s side in an attempt to increase the distance between them and himself. Mikkel, his husband, nudged him softly and gave him an apologetic smile.

“The game is almost over.” He promised. Erik looked at the scoreboard on the far side of the gym and sighed in relief when he found that the game was indeed almost over.

He would have never thought he’d find himself in a place like this again after high school, but he had promised Björn and his wife that he’d come and support their eldest son at his first game. Erik didn’t know much about the sport but their son, Peter, seemed to poses an uncanny ability to think fast on his feet and aim from any point, seeing as he nearly scored every shot he made into the basket. Erik had even stood to cheer for the boy when he made an incredible shot from half court. It was hard to believe that he has only been playing for a few months.

Björn and Kaarina were long time friends and absolutely wonderful people, no doubt about that. They were also social people, ones who attended every parent teacher meeting, planned children’s birthday parties, had tons of friends, and were among the highest models for young parents. Erik admired them very much. But the insistence that a recluse like himself attend these kind of events with his social husband per simple requests and obligation as friends made him almost wish they weren’t so close so that he might spend this Thursday evening at home in bed reading a nice book in the soft light of his bedside lamp.

The buzzer sounded, harsh and shrill, to signal the end of the game. The home team had won. Björn stood and clapped for his son’s team as they lined up at half court to high-five the opposing team for a good game, his son spotted him and smiled widely with endearingly crooked teeth and gave a thumbs up before running into the locker rooms to gather his things.

Mikkel and I remained seated in our seats while the crowd around us dispersed down and around the bleachers and out the doors, deciding that it would be best to sit out the traffic, if only for a while. When the man seated behind me finally got up to leave I heaved a heavy sigh and willed my tense back to relax finally.

Now that things were much quieter than before and the four if us adults where waiting for Peter to return so we could leave, Mikkel, who I now realized was holding Kaarina’s five year old in his lap without me noticing, decided to strike up a conversation.

“Peter was amazing out there!” He praised. “Did you teach him how to do what he did, Björn? Come on! He was killin’ it out there.”

Björn smiled and his eyes twinkled with pride behind thin glasses. “He practices in the drive way. He does it all on his own.”

“Oh wow, that’s some dedication. I can see he’s got a lot of ambition.”

“You used to play basketball in high school, didn’t you, Mikkel? What did you think of the game?” Kaarina inquired. One of her soft hands rested on my knee to keep her shoulders turned so as to be able to look at my husband beside me. I didn’t mind.

“Yep, I played varsity my last two years. If Peter keeps doing what we just saw, he’d be making the top teams by the time he’s 15.”

I began to tone out the conversation at this point, having heard it all before, and busied myself looking around. There were still groups of people milling about with their kids and families on the gym floor. I spotted Peter by the locker room doors talking animatedly with a couple of friends before making his way to us in quick, short strides. I glanced around the room one last time. I hadn’t expected to find anything of interest but the lonely figure of a boy by the visitor’s side trash cans, captured my attention. 

He probably would have escaped my notice if it weren’t for the unusual head of white hair in stark contrast to the medium brown tones of wood that made up the gym or the wrinkled blue Pepsi tee that was two sizes too big that draped frightfully over his thin body. He was eating casually from a half empty bag of popcorn but he quickly discarded it into the bin and instead reached in and produced a medium sized drink without a top from it before exiting the gym. It was a peculiar sight to me and I had to stop myself from expressing the surprise that probably would have landed me curious looks. He looked to be an older boy, if not middle school than maybe a first year in high school and he did not appear to have been accompanied by anyone else. I didn’t get to linger long on the thought— Peter had arrived to us.

“Mom, Dad, did you see me!”

“Yes, sweetie. You were incredible.” Kaarina beamed. Björn swooped down and scooped the boy up into his arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Peter protested playfully, insisting that he was too old now for such affections. I smiled adoringly at his innocence.

“That was a good game. Even your uncle thinks so.”

“Really?” Peter was beyond excitement as he looked at his adoring uncle, pleased with himself that he was able to gain his praises from Mikkel.

No one asked me what I thought of the game. This I was used to since they know I hold little interest at all to sports. Instead I took Lars from my husband’s lap and placed him into my own, bouncing him gently on a knee so that Peter could take his place. I looked down at Lars, brushing back the hair that fell in his eyes. He was half asleep, by now. I envy and wish I had the ability to sleep under any circumstance. The game had left me mentally exhausted and I wished nothing more than to be in bed right now. 

We conversed, the five of us, together for a few minutes. One family sharing their merits with another. Peter talked about his day at school, wanting to share with as many people who would listen. He even included me into the story when the subject of cats came up between his group of friends in art class today and I had to share with him what gift my beloved Sofie had brought to me that morning from her morning hunt so he could tell his friends that she had once brought me a dead rat to the porch when we had first got her. The conversation drew to a close shortly after that on the note of a promised victory stop at one of Peter’s favorite fast food restaurants. Mikkel and I said goodbye and we went our separate ways.

Neither of us said a word to each other on the way to the car. It wasn’t until we were out of the traffic and onto the empty one lane road to our home ten minutes away just outside the next town that Mikkel averted his gaze to me. At this point the silence had left me somewhere in between content and disturbed, but the warm, gentle smile he gave me settled on content. When he spoke it was uncharacteristically soft.

“How you holding up, babe?”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“You know, I’m really proud of you.”

I raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m glad that you decided to come.” He quickly looked out the window, then back to the road.

I was embarrassed. Mikkel knew I had troubles with crowds in public places and he must have noticed my unease from before. Now he was calling me out on bravery. It was flattering in a way that he would interpret my presence at the game as a positive step in my recovery but I hated it when my faults were brought to light.

“He’s your nephew.” I said in a calculated tone of indifference. 

“I know. But you could have stayed home.”

“That would have been cruel.” He spared me a skeptical glance as if he believed that wasn’t the real reasons why I had come. When he didn’t say anything else I sighed frustratingly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Mikkel. I did what was expected of me, there’s no need to be proud of anything.” Mikkel’s smile faltered at my strained tone. He knew why I had acted upset. No more words were needed to be spoken for him to understand.

“We’re almost home,” his hand came to rest on my knee. “It’s really early but I think we both should go to bed after dinner.”

“Yes.”

I was the last to fall asleep that night. Mikkel kept to his side of the bed but I couldn’t stand the separation between us and gave in to the comfort of curling up against his back. My words from before bothered me, keeping me awake despite my previous exhaustion. The irritation I felt in the car was short lived and quickly dissipated to one of guilt. I shouldn’t be taking out my frustration on him, his intentions were good. But I couldn’t help it. I had thought that I would be able to grow out of this irrational anxiety over the years but the proof of my irritation secured me to its will.

It scared me. That I would never be able to be cured.

The headlights of a passing car invaded the dark of our bedroom through the cracks of the blinds. It illuminated the room from one corner to the other and from its light I could see the bare skin of Mikkel’s back clearly for a second before it disappeared.

Mikkel and I have been married for six years and we’ve known each other for even longer. We’ve had years to know each other in that time and we’ve had time to grow as individuals and as a couple. This is not to say that we have each other all figure out.

No, it is hard to predict what others will say or do and be correct every time.

Mikkel was too good to me. When we were in our teens, I had failed to inform him of my public anxiety, maybe out of fear, on a night when the whole class’ student body congregated under one roof in a so called dance. It was more like a riot to me. Either way, I had ended up outside in tears and near hyperventilation just thirty minutes after arriving. Thankfully the area behind our school was empty and I found solace in the dark solitude. Mikkel found me, I was still in tears, but he comforted me in all the right ways and with the patience of a saint till I was calm. I tried to apologize for ruining our night, our first dance together as a couple but he simply kissed me and suggested we leave.

I feel like I don’t do much for him. How could such a wonderful man love someone distant and pessimistic like me? I had an incredibly unattractive personality over all, on the completely opposite side of the spectrum from his own and many have told us that we made an odd couple and no one expected us to last long.

Sometimes he goes out to pubs or private clubs to meet with friends and strangers without me. While I know what occurs at each, there is still a voice inside me that questions Mikkel’s loyalty to me, but I would never let him know that such ill thoughts afflict me. But I wouldn’t blame him if he was out having an affair.

It was only a matter of time anyway. Soon he would grow tired of me just like everyone else had.

The next week brought another basketball game. By that time I had steeled my resolve and suggested to Mikkel that we attend. He raised no questions but a simple smile and off we went. 

This time we chose our seats at the top to avoid being surrounded. It was another home game with the same people and the same uneasiness except I had friends around me and Milkkel’s hand to hold. I tried to pay attention to the entire game but I’ve never been into sports, they always bored me after a few minutes and I found my eyes wondering around the gym again.

From the visitors side adjacent to where we were sitting, in the same spot as last time, a head of white hair stopped my wondering eyes. There the boy was again, only this time instead of the oversize blue Pepsi tee, he was wearing a plain white shirt marked with stains and brown pants. It made him look ghastly and malnourished. He wasn’t standing by the trash this time, instead he was sitting by the exit with a beaten up basketball by his feet and one of those cheap disposable cameras clutched tightly in his hands. His eyes were set in a blank stare fixed on some point in the distance. He looked tired and defeated sitting and staring at the air like that. The basketball game held no interest to me any more, I just wanted to know who this kid was.

If anyone were to know anything about anyone, it would be Kaarina, loyal PTA mom and the town’s most discrete but shameless busybody. I nudged Kaarina beside me and asked.

“Oh him,” her eyes filled with pity. “I don’t know his name, no one does, but the kids call him Ghost. Because of his white hair and how he’s always floating around the area, you know? I heard his parents abandoned him and left him to fend for himself, but I’ve also heard he’s a runaway and a troublemaker. I’m not really sure.” She bit her lip doubtfully.

“Has anyone tried talking to him?”

“Oh, yes. The police have tried it before but he always just brushes them off. It’s the same thing every time and so far he hasn’t gotten into any big trouble so we just leave him be.”

“I think he prefers it that way.” I stated with a sense of sympathy. Kaarina nodded in agreement.

The game was another success. Afterwards, Kaarina invited us to celebrate with them at their house.

Their home was on the opposite side of the town from were we lived but within equal distance from the school and downtown, and every visit still left me in awe at its beauty. The outside remained humble with well kept grass and a colorful array of manicured flower beds, but the true wonder was held inside. Under the careful scrutiny of Björn’s professional eyes for interior design and Kaarina’s will for a unique dream, nearly every room was painted a different color from the next, with a staging of minimalistic furniture to match.

The two young boys ran up the stairs to wash up before dinner in giggles and high spirits and took the noise with them. The four of us exchanges pleasant smiles before each taking a responsibility to help prepare dinner.

“Mikkel, could I speak to you for a moment in private?” I regarded Björn curiously for a second in action of setting the table while Mikkel turned to follow his brother into another room.

“Hmm, I wonder what’s up with them.“ Kaarina giggled. "Hey, don’t you think we shouldn’t have left them to be alone together?”

“Probably not.” I agreed with a chuckle. Everyone who knew understood that the two brothers could hardly stand together without getting into some sort of argument, and true to that statement there came a shout from the room in which they disappeared in.

“It isn’t going to help if he doesn’t want it!”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try! Nothing is ever going to get better if you don’t force these things, Mikkel. Take control for once, won’t you!”

Kaarina and I exchanges awkward looks.

“I guess it’s too late.” She said nothing more as she worked on setting up the rest of the table and seating the boys down in their seats before announcing that dinner was ready.

Through the whole meal I couldn’t help but think of what I had overheard; how I had overheard Mikkel refer to a ‘he’ who was undoubtedly me. For some reason Björn wanted to talk to Mikkel about me and had presumably challenged him to try something. . . I can only guess. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

At home, when the two of us where in bed, Mikkel had his back rested against the headboard with a note pad in one hand and a pen in between his teeth, his free hand tapped ceaselessly against the paper in a thoughtful manner. I was already snuggled under the duvet using his thigh as a pillow listening to him mutter things to himself. He was trying to write a speech for a convention he was invited to next week for business owners.

We owned a very popular restaurant that we hope to expand to other cities. While I didn’t know much about business, Mikkel managed most things from the location while I managed most of the money at home. I had never worked much other than working retail for a few years during highschool and on while Mikkel went to college. Other than that, I hardly do anything since we found that the business Mikkel had started began to provide the majority of our income.

Laying there I thought back to dinner and how we had hardly spoken since. It was starting to become strange since Mikkel was such a talkative person to contrast my silence, it was a quality I loved about him. But recently I noticed we hardly spoke to each other anymore for some reason I couldn’t think of. Everything seemed fine before, nothing had seemed to changed between us, but apparently something had.

I remembered the shouted words exchanged between Mikkel and Björn before dinner.

“What were you and Björn talking about?”

Mikkel ceased his muttering and dropped his arms to look down at me. My eyes were closed but I could feel his gaze on me.

“What do you— Oh, that? You heard that?”

“No. Not really, anyway. You were yelling.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was nothing really, forget about it.”

Usually I would have left it at that, let it go, because I didn’t want to start an argument and stress my anxiety. It was too much effort to argue but this time I had heard and understood the gist of their argument and curiosity pressed me to risk one of my own.

“No, it wasn’t nothing,” I turned my head up to look at him. “You were talking about me, weren’t you?”

A look of guilt passed over his face momentarily, silence settled between us as we stared into each others eyes. He was the first to break the silence, grab my face and lean down to kiss my forehead, unexpected but welcomed.

“Erik,” he began, taking a deep breath, kissing my forehead again. “It was nothing, babe, I promise. Björn was just trying to help again. You know how he is.” I nodded slowly.

“I get it now.” I said with nothing more, reluctantly leaving yet another conversation unsolved. I didn’t actually know what exactly Mikkel meant but I knew that Björn’s 'help’ was usually, well— unhelpful.

Mikkel seemed to relax finally and put away his things.

“It’s pretty late now, I would say. Scoot over, Honey Bunches, so I can get in some sleep too.” I rolled my eyes at the terrible pet name but complied and repositioned myself with my head on his abdomen and his arm around my shoulder once he was situated.

However, I wasn’t ready to sleep just yet but it seemed Mikkel was judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest and occasional light snore. It took a while for me to fall asleep then again. My mind was always on full throttle this time of night and it was near impossible to close my eyes peacefully. I thought back on the last few weeks, the last few years and the next; to things done before and regrettably undone. I knew I was being irrational and over thinking the littlest things but I couldn’t help it under any circumstance, instead, I see the only way to 'stop’ it was to keep it to myself and keep my mouth shut. It was the best tactic I found to be mostly successful in maintaining a happy relationship, but by far the healthiest, I knew that but I persisted telling myself that it was for the best and that everything would resolve itself and be gone; and I would be cured.

But again, I doubted, this time believing it.

I’ll never be cured and there was nothing I, Mikkel, Björn, Kaarina, or even some doctor I’ve never met, could do.


	2. Chapter 2

“Last chance, babe.”

“No, I’m think I’m good.”

“Ah, Erik, I’ll be lonely without you!”

Today was Wednesday, the day before the business convention and Mikkel was once again trying to convince me to come with him on a four hour drive three day convention in a different state on last notice. I shook my head and ran a hand over his shoulders to smooth out the wrinkles in his nice dress shirt only in vain as he threw his arms up in exasperation.

“This is an honor for a small business like ours to be invited to, let alone give a speech at. It would mean a lot to me if you came.” Mikkel stuck out his bottom lip, dropped his head and looked up at me with the expression of a pitiful child. I narrowed my eyes at him but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

“You’re a giant idiot, you know that?”

“Only the best,” He smirked.

I actually laugh at that. “I know it’s a big honor for us, for _you_ especially, and I’m so proud of you. But you know how it is. I’ll just stay here and keep an eye on things at the restaurant while you and Jan are gone.” He nodded in disappointment.

His invite extended to a plus one and since I didn’t want to go he offered it to his friend Jan, an extremely virile Dutch man with an intimidating scowl and a scar across his forehead. He only accepted his offer under the promise that if he went he would be promoted to floor manager. The two were meant to leave today.

Mikkel groaned in defiance and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close to him and rocked us softly to a deaf beat. I knew he was just trying to allure me into his will and seduce me to accept but I made sure he wouldn’t have it that easy. He was extremely stubborn in this state and I had to use every tactic to get him to let go, from creating a barrier with my arm curled between us to turning my head to avoid his kisses to the lips. It was a game we played often as both of us were stubborn.

“You could just stay in the hotel room,” He said between two kisses I managed to avoid that landed on the bridge of my nose and my temple. “I’ll get to come back to your pretty little self lounging on the bed, probably watching TV.” Mikkel’s voice dropped to a sultry tone that sent an involuntary pleasant shiver down my spine with a deep, cool calm that relaxed me into his arms. It was an unfair tactic to try and get me to change my mind but I couldn’t help myself on indulging in his affections.

“The two of us would be alone together… With nothing but a thin layer of drywall separating us and the next door neighbors. It’ll be like when we were teenagers.“ I closed my eyes to the sensation of his lips kissing along my jaw, ear, down my neck, and hummed in satisfaction, clearly remembering those times we shared. Also forgetting to mention how cruel it would be to cancel on Jan at this point.

As much as I was enjoying this it was time to stop him before things went too far. Jan would be here any minute to drive them away.

“Mikkel?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Mikkel, I’m sorry, but I really need to use the bathroom.” I raised an eyebrow in amusement when his light hooded eyes widened in mortification.

“Norge!” He cried. There was that darn old nickname he had given me years ago, just because I was Norwegian. “‘I’m trying to be sexy! Can’t you hold it?”

“I don’t think that will do either of us any good. Now let go.” I chided, batting at his arms to let go but he refused. Soon he was cradling his red and swollen ear in one hand while the other tried to reattach itself to me. I simply slapped it away.

“I’ll have none of that.” He looked about ready to throw a fit at this point but I found a seed of pity somewhere within me to appease him. “Tell you what—” Just then the sound of a horn blaring from outside on our driveway interrupted our little playful skirmish. It was time for Mikkel to go. I walked him to join Jan in the car outside.

“If all goes well at the conference; if your speech is a success, we’ll celebrate together when you get back. Just the two of us.”

Mikkel’s smile was radiant.

“That sounds great, babe.” Finally I kissed that wonderful smile of his.

“I’ll see you on Sunday. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jan waved me a brief goodbye from inside the car then drove away leaving me to stand alone in the driveway with my arms crossed over my chest, feeling exposed.

By the afternoon I had the house all to myself and an unappealing sense of emptiness accompanied me in every room. I was already missing the presence of my husband even if it had only been a few hours since he had left. The next three whole days would prove to be lonely outside the times spent at the restaurant. To feel I knew I was far too dependent on Mikkel for company, it was one of the things I could not help about myself, strange as it is for someone who used to live life in solitude. But he was one of my only close friends after all. Solitude was no longer as appealing as it used to be.

Belatedly, I remembered I had forgotten to ask Mikkel to call me once he arrives at the hotel he will be staying at. He responded to my text a minute after sending with an excessive amount of exclamation points and kiss emojis after his promise that he would do so. I sent back a few myself, just because the thought of Mikkel’s goofy smile when he would read them brightened the mood momentarily.

The restaurant, our pride, our success, was located on a busy avenue between a dry cleaner and and cute little antique shop run by a large woman with a love for ceramic statues of baby animals and cherubs arranged in an odd sort of nativity scene in the front window.

Here the constant flow of traffic afforded much attention to this area and often left us with little room to seat customers inside. A garden type patio was renovated into the back to accommodate for extra space and was very popular among couples. It was strange how Scandinavian cuisine became a popular trend in the city and soon the internet had overtaken the craze to new lengths of promoting us to national viewers. What started out as an idea with many doubts of stable success soon became a booming topic on social media in the States. One particularly positive review, I remembered, was made by some famous blogger, a traveler who crossed the country finding new exiting places to eat and share, was the start of our prosperity, now, the first milestone to lead to the next.

Despite the claims to a shared success, I had no part in pursuing it. This was Mikkel’s journey, not mine, that is why I didn’t go to the convention with him. I never experience the same calling Mikkel did. To me this business was simply something I learned to live by, not something I truly invested myself into. A sort of inconvenience, a leisurely stroke of a paintbrush to a semi-transparent dream I had yet to paint myself. Mikkel was the artist in this portion of our masterpiece. My inadequacy bothers me and often I wonder what a man with crippling anxiety has to do to feel like he’s done something admirable, to feel success that lives up among the lives of those around him and within himself. Often I’ve tried and often I’ve failed. But the plagues of my failure take root to my mind and don’t let go. They terrorize me until I can’t breathe, think, move, and make me believe like the whole weight of the world has crumbled to sharp jagged pieces of rubble onto my back, until nearly every move I make is painful and marks me with fear. Until I am inconsolable.

I check up on the restaurant that night with borderline trepidation. I have never visited alone before. The host today is a college student. Hardworking and smart. He greets me at the door like he’s greeting the president, offering to take my coat, smiling and waving the whole time, calling me sir. I guess in a way to him I am. When the formalities are finished, though, he addresses me in a colloquial manner that would be considered disrespectful under most professional circumstances but I hardly cared. Leaving his post in the hands of another co-worker he leads me around the area weaving between tables occupied by people of all sorts, showed me the works and assuring me that everything was going smoothly and that they had already been informed by Mikkel to call me if any problems arise.

By some curiosity I decided to stay briefly to check the newest renovations to the outdoor patio.

I remember Mikkel had spoken about them before and had shown me pictures and sketched of his ideas but I hadn’t visited in nearly three months and the changes to me were staggering.

At center, a circular fountain had been installed with nightlights placed around it’s base to mark a path. The air above glowed with strung fairy lights that made the plates and people beneath it shine like gold. A child reached up to them. A couple laughed sparks into the night, the soft glow of the lights reflected off their wedding rings. I glanced at my own. It looked dull.

Everything looked spectacular.

I really hope Mikkel does well on his speech.

The cooks in the kitchen invite me to the back to sample some improved dishes of their own hardly giving me a moment to give a word before the next sample was pressed to my lips. Not all the cooks are Scandinavian, native or descendants, but they learn fast and their skills are stupendous. We are grateful to have them cook for us. If it weren’t for them we would never be where we are today.

The Italian one, I don’t remember his name, is my favorite. He’s easy to talk to, chatty, polite, and handsome. He’s been working here since we opened, he was eager to do so, too, since his old Italian place was put out of business by heavy competition he wanted to try something new. He’s older than us though he doesn’t look like it. You would think I would remember the name of someone like him but I hardly spend as much time trying to remember the names of every employee as I should be. I only remember his last name. Vargas.

The restaurant closes at 11 p.m. on the dot. Alfred, the night host, is the last to leave. So am I. He offers me a lengthy good night at the door as he locks up and rides home on his bike.

Mikkel hasn’t called yet. I take a seat in one of the chairs by the two tables out front and decide then to call him first instead. It rings one, four, then six times before he finally answers. The background noise is loud. Music and laughter can be heard from close and far. The sound rattles, like the phone is being moved across a hard surface before Mikkel’s voice cames on, heavy and slurred under alcohol I can smell across the line.

Anger stirs in my stomach. He’s drunk.

I hang up.

He tries to call when I’m on the bus halfway home but I ignore it with finality. He tries a second time. I hang up instantly. When I’m off the bus a string of texts appear but I don’t even glance at them. A fierce thought assaults the back of my mind: _Leave him alone. He shouldn’t bother his efforts onto you, he can do whatever he damn well pleases_. Bitter words sour the back of my throat and it hurts.

It’s dark and quiet in the neighborhood and close to midnight. Street maps mark the path every thirty feet. My phone has stopped its buzzing making the night feel all the more desolate, but I don’t feel it in my anger.

The concrete sidewalk makes the soft click of my shoes nearly inaudible. I listen to its faint sounds to help clear my head. Click. My right leg is dominant in its movements. Click— This step it is silent.

Click.

Where the sound of my left shoe should have been silent a sharper distant rasp took its place. I look up from my shoes to the direction of the noise. At the next curb, out from under the direct light of the lamp post, a head of white cast in an overlay of blue light caught my eye out of the dark.

The boy with the blue Pepsi tee had a flashlight in one hand and a disposable camera in the other. He was taking pictures of something in the dark under the bushes on the neighbor’s yard. A careful look reveals a kitten. He snaps a second photo of it using the indirect light of the flashlight to light the shot.

He hasn’t noticed me yet. Seeing his white hair and long pale figure from here I could see why they call him Ghost. He looked absolutely ghastly.

After a third shot he seemed satisfied. He nodded to himself, mumbled something under his breath and moved to put the camera away in a drawstring backpack I just noticed him wearing. It fell with a sound that suggested he had more. He noticed me standing and staring.

The look of fright and embarrassment that crossed his face had me opening my mouth before I could think.

“What are you doing?” That was the worst thing I could say and my mistake showed in his actions. He ran. When I reached the bend he and the kitten had disappeared.

Jan called me at 11 a.m.

“Tell him I don’t want to talk to him.”

“I figured. He’s asleep.”

“With a hangover, I bet.”

“He forgot about calling and started crying when you hung up.”

“Serves him right for getting drunk.”

“I suggested we go out drinking.”

“I’m not angry with you, not this time. What time is his speech?”

“It’s in three hours.”

“Hell. Get him up. If he screws this up for us I give you permission to punch him in the face. But don’t break anything.” I add hastily as the image of Lars’s large arms flexing at last year’s anniversary party came to mind. “He needs his face.”

He chuckled mirthfully, a little too pleased with himself. Maybe it was a bad idea to give him such a privileged. “Will do.”

“Oh, and, Erik? There was a reason I called.” Jan’s voice lost its humor.

“Yes?”

“Grow up.”

My throat tightens.

Today was a day I could lay back and think. Not too much of course. Finished with my part work for the day I called Kaarina at home without much reason and asked her where Peter’s next game was.

North Everett Middle School’s gymnasium was smaller than the one in our town where Peter went to school. There were less people on our side, the visitor’s side, but despite the thinner crowds the new setting has me on edge.

Kaarina nearly hugged the air out of me when I took my seat with so much power for a small woman. I nodded stiffly to Björn and gave a tiny wave to Lars who was seated between both parents. Kaarina held one of my hand in both her smaller ones and introduced me to the game so far motioning out to Peter across the court with her chin as he dribbled and passed the ball to his team mates battling from side to side.

To some disappointment I noticed Ghost was no where to be seen but of course this was a different gym in a different town.

His absence disappointed me in an odd way I had not expected. I wanted to see him, but for what? To talk to him? Everyone on Earth knew I was no good at that, especially with strangers I knew nothing about.

But I _did_ know something, and I was curious about it.

The excitement Peter showed towards seeing me was something I hold very dear to my heart. He ran into my arms and I lifted him up allowing myself a rare wide smile for the young man who just won his third game. Björn takes him from my arms quickly, avoiding any eye or unnecessary contact with me. He doesn’t think I notice, but I do. Even befor Mikkel told me everything. Kaarina who has Lars in her arms offers him to me to hold but I refuse kindly telling her I have to get going soon anyway. I take a quick picture of the score board and send it to Mikkel with the news of his nephew’s team victory. He doesn’t respond. I don’t expect him to.

Outside I stood by the exit in the cool evening air and assessed myself quickly.

Here I was outside of the house willingly, alone, with other people for the past hour and a half. To ponder why would leave me standing here for hours so I push it aside and briskly walk to my car. I shouldn’t be thinking about it if it feels this easy.

It was only 7 p.m. but I didn’t feel like returning home or to the restaurant. They should call if they need anything anyway, home felt far too lonesome even with my precious Sofie waiting for me, and anywhere else sounded overwhelmingly exhausting.

On the way home I take a detour off the main road to a scenic path. This route takes longer but the views are beautiful and very calming, Mikkel and I used to come here a lot for picnics before we got married. Empty fields stretched for miles into the distant mountains, a giant lake took up a great portion of the east side of the view, a worn dirt path circles the outskirts of it on the west where some sheltered tables and new trees were planted along it for visitors to relax in the shade.

I let up of the accelerator a bit and look out the window to my right alternately with the front. So far there have been three cars parked on the shoulder but I don’t intend to stop and continue driving on the left lane. From my point of view I can see some figures at the bottom of the hill; Some are children, their parents, and a dog, but one is deviated from the rest ahead of me at the top of the crest. I jerk the steering wheel sharply to the right and nearly sideswipe the car in the right lane. They honk their horn at me as they slam on their breaks. I pull myself to the right shoulder and stop my car. The blaring horn and screech of my tires draw the attention of those within earshot. Including Ghost’s.

What the hell did I just do that for? Dear Gods I could have crashed! Tense and shaken I sit in my car, foot pressed firmly on the break, hands circled tightly around the steering wheel, eyes wide and heart pounding. When my breathing finally returns to a slower rate I will myself to relax and park the car. Ghost is still staring. I don’t think he recognizes me through the tinted windows.

No doubt the others must be staring too and I debate whether or not to get out the car or just drive away. After a few minutes of gathering myself into a sort of functioning husk of anxiety I check to see if there were any approaching cars before exiting my car and rounding the front.

Winds began to pick up and the temperature dropped dramatically.

Ghost has gone back to doing what he was doing: taking pictures with one of his disposable cameras and pays no mind to me. The people at the bottom of the hill by the lake, however, follow me with their wide curious eyes. I take a deep breath and do my best to ignore their stares as I make my way to the boy on the crest.

Ghost seems even more like a ghost up close. He’s pale. Extremely pale, and his hair is actually silver and shone with natural oils under natural light. His Pepsi tee had a few stains scattered across the front. He is even thinner than I imagined.

I feel something regrettably akin to pity at the sight of his bony wrists that made me, willed me, to reach out to him; to get to know this boy.

He jumps when I clear my throat.

“You really like to take pictures don’t you?”

He seems puzzled for a moment before his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“That’s all I’ve seen you doing.”

“What do you want?” His voice is harsh with a hint of a metallic rasp, most likely from misuse.

“I— What’s your name?” I jolt in panic at the little slip up..

The boy hesitates. “Ghost.”

“Is that what you call yourself?” He doesn’t answer. “Do your parents leave you alone a lot?”

Ghost flushes red in anger or embarrassment. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I don’t know who the hell you are. Leave me alone.”

My heart is racing but my cool, skilled, practiced façede gives nothing away to suggest anything from the inside.

“My name is Erik Sørensen,” I say quickly, offering a hand. It might have been a little too formal of a gesture but it was effective in stopping him from leaving. “I was just curious.”

He takes my hand and shakes it tentatively. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m sweating.

“I don’t have any parents.” His words are as hesitant as his handshake.

“Who do you live with?”

“With my Aunt.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“And where does she live?”

Ghost gives me a suspicious look, then replies, “In Faulkner.”

“That’s on the other side of town.”

“I ride the bus.”

“It’s getting pretty late to make it back to Faulkner before the sun goes down. If you want to, I can take you home when you’re done here.”

He shifts back onto his right foot. “Look mister, I don’t know why you’re offering but, no, thank you. I can take the bus ba—”

“It’s no problem.”

Ghost swallows.

In Faulkner the silence between us is broken only by the soft spoken directions from Ghost to his aunts house. They’re not specific directions, just simple “this way” or “turn left here”, finally he says, “It’s just ahead.”

“Which house is it?” I ask.

“Just drop me off here. I’ll walk.”

I park the car along the sidewalk. We both unbuckle our seat belts to get out.

“What are you doing?” Ghost stops and stares at me incredulously with his hand on the door handle.

“Getting out. I want to meet your aunt.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

He seems lost. Purple eyes dart from side to side as if he’s trying to find his words hiding in the interior of my car.

“You don’t have an aunt, do you?” At my words his eyes widen and he looks down at his lap and shakes his head nervously.

“Not anymore.”

I stare at this boy. Downcast eyes, slump shoulders, atmosphere thick with an unspoken sorrow. Something in my mind clicks at that moment. I start the car, buckle my seat belt back on and instruct him to so the same.

“Where are we going?” He asks once we’re on the road again.

“My house,” Not a single doubt runs through my mind at the idea. “You’re going to stay there the night, have a nice shower, eat something hot. The temperature is supposed to drop to freezing tonight and I’m not going to let you sleep outside or wherever it is you’re staying, it’s probably cold there anyway. Not if I can help it. And that’s final.” I add when he opens his mouth to protest.

Ghost stands awkwardly in the middle of my living room wringing the hem of his big tee between his hands while his eyes are restless, looking up and down and side to side taking in his surroundings. I am fixing the couch into a makeshift bed with some of the extra bed sheets in the linen closet to accommodate him for the night since the two guest bedrooms where being used as Mikkel’s workout room and storage room.

“Wait I know you. Yesterday on the street. That was you wasn’t it?” I nod. “So… You live here, huh? Pretty big for one person.”

I shake my head. “I live here with my husband.” I absently hold up my left hand to show the gold band wrapped around my ring finger.

Ghost nods lightly at the sight of it then does a once over of the living room until he spots a picture frame on the mantel above the fireplace of Mikkel and I on our honeymoon in Norway in the summer. He steps closer to examine it.

“I would have never pegged you as gay.” I heard him mumble. “Is your your husband here?”

“No. he’s on a business conference.” _Probably having the time of his life_.

Satisfied with the temporary bed I turn to face the boy in my living room.

Our eyes meet. I breathe out slowly.

My heart is calm.

“I think I have some night clothes you can borrow. I’ll wash your clothes while you shower and make dinner for the both of us. Come. I’ll show you how the shower works.” He follows me up the stairs past the recreation room to the first door on the left. He’s shy and holds himself tightly, thanks me when I bring him the spare pajamas and take his old clothes to the laundry room to wash. He eats dinner quickly, a meal consisting of vegetable and meat soup with a side of salad. He doesn’t ask for seconds. When it’s time for bed I hand him an old but warm fleece blanket and head upstairs to prepare for bed as well.

“Umm, Mister.”

“Erik.”

“Erik. . .”

“Yes?”

Clean silver hair bobs when he nods. “Thank you.”

A small simple smile forms on my lips.

“Sleep well, kid.”

No one calls that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite but here it is  
> also, there will be no explicit sexual content in this fic but there may be mentions of sex in later chapters

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAND THERE IT IS! Please, if you could, tell me what you think? It would mean a lot and inspire me to write more  
> Thank you for your time <3 Stay tuned for the next chapter!  
> To be continued. . .


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